Young men no longer
by the original killerpineapple
Summary: 'It's not the first time they've met in the Leaky Cauldron'. Remus and Severus reconnect 23 years after the war ends.
1. Forty Years

Forty Years

Severus heads to the Leaky Cauldron more to get out of the weather than anything else. The blanket of snow which had lured him out this morning is not so inviting in Diagon Alley, compacted by hordes of Christmas shoppers and too slippery under his cane. He doesn't really know why he came here, truth be told. He has no one to buy for, and the carols do nothing for his mood. Inside the Leaky Cauldron is better, though, where the fire is warm and the whisky welcome. It's always quiet, too, this time of year.

He orders his drink and takes it to a table tucked away in a corner. He leans his cane against the wall and removes his scarf and coat, draping them over the back of a threadbare armchair. When he sits, he's careful to keep his bad knee straight.

The first drink disappears quickly, and he is beginning to stand and return to the bar when a second is placed onto the table and slid towards him. He looks up and a familiar face smiles uncertainly down at him.

"This seat taken?" Lupin asks. Severus hesitates before sighing quietly and inclining his head slightly, settling himself back into his seat.

Lupin plonks himself down, spilling a couple of drops of his pint onto his hand in the process. He raises his glass in a silent 'cheers' before taking a swill and setting it down on the table. Severus tilts his whisky towards Lupin before taking a sip.

There's a silence.

Lupin surveys the pub, reclining casually, his thumb stroking lazy circles on the worn fabric of the armchair. Severus is less relaxed. His eyes dart, searching desperately for something to say. The minutes stretch. Lupin seems not to mind.

"You've grown a beard." He opts for, eventually.

"Yes." Lupin turns to face him, his smile patient and amused. "What do you think?" He rubs his hand against it, as though unsure himself.

Severus shrugs. "You look…different." He pauses. "Hairier."

Lupin snorts into his drink. "Hairier, indeed." He looks at Severus, and cocks his head. "You're just as hairy as last I saw you. Maybe a little greyer around the temples, though." He thinks he sees Severus hide a smile behind the rim of his glass.

"I'm afraid we are young men no longer."

As Lupin removes his scarf, Severus downs the last of his drink.

"I'll get us another."

* * *

They really don't have much to talk about. They ask about the few old acquaintances either of them still knows and complain about the weather. They avoid any talk of Christmas plans. By the third round the cards are out and Severus has won two hands of three. Lupin's poker face is terrible, even with the beard covering half of it.

Lupin excuses himself to use the bathroom and returns with more drinks. Severus is now drinking doubles, it would seem. It is starting to get dark outside, and Severus vaguely thinks he should make a start for home. But it's been a while since he's had any company, and even longer since he's won any money, and so his desire to pursue the thought is minimal.

"Easy on the doubles. I still have to hobble home." It doesn't stop him from taking the drink, though.

"What happened to your leg?" Lupin is busy dealing and doesn't look up. Severus thinks it might be to give him the option of avoiding the question, or lying, if he wants to. A remnant of war, when some things were too painful to talk about.

"Fell down some stairs and broke my kneecap. Didn't heal very well."

"Ah." He nods without looking up.

"Nothing too exciting, I'm afraid."

"I think we've both had enough excitement for several lifetimes. A nice boring tumble down the stairs suits just fine." Lupin finishes dealing and picks up his hand. Severus picks up his too, organising them into suits. Lupin doesn't arrange his cards in any particular order, and the only reason Severus doesn't pick him up on it is because he suspects Lupin might play better if he were to impose some logic.

"Easy for you to say." He sneers without any real venom. Because Lupin can't shuffle, either, he has ended up with the two, three, four, six, eight and queen of clubs. He plays a card, and they don't speak again for another twenty minutes.

* * *

"How's Tonks?"

The pause is a beat too long.

"I don't know."

He doesn't push it.

* * *

In the end, he thinks it's because he feels sorry for him.

It's not a pleasant feeling, or one he's especially accustomed to. He just wants it gone, and in the moment he thinks the best way to do that is to invite Lupin over for Christmas. He regrets it immediately.

Sooner than immediately. As the words come out of his mouth, his mind races for a way he can change them, change the offer to something less horrendous. Less awkward. But then he's said it, and he can't take it back.

Lupin looks taken aback. His pint pauses halfway between the table and his face. "That's very kind of you. Are you sure?"

"Yes." Severus says through gritted teeth.

"Then I'd like that very much."

"Don't feel obliged." He says, too quickly.

"I don't."

Severus thinks Lupin is being difficult on purpose. Deliberately misreading the situation, although for what reason he couldn't say. He starts to feel annoyed at him, but then it's his own fault, really. Lupin didn't force him to make the offer.

He sips his whisky. "Well then. I suppose it's settled."

"I suppose so." Lupin smiles broadly and picks up the cards.

* * *

He spends far too long staring at the mirror.

Far too long. It's not as if he doesn't know what he looks like. Hooked nose. Narrowed eyes. Sneer. Same as it's been for almost sixty years. Same as it'll be tomorrow, and the day after that.

He doesn't know why his reflection should suddenly interest him now.

He brushes his teeth more meticulously than usual. He regrets the cigarettes and the tea. He almost regrets the tea.

Except he does know why it suddenly interests him now.

And he says he looks the same. That's not quite true. He's thinner, and the lines around his eyes are deepening behind the glasses he's worn the past five years. All of his lines are deepening, truth be told. He runs a hand through his hair. Lupin was being kind when he said he was maybe a little greyer.

He opens the cabinet to put his toothbrush back, then closes it and stares at his face a moment longer. Hooked nose, narrowed eyes, sneer.

It's not the first time they've met in the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

He'd been out that night because it was a Friday and he was twenty-one, and that's what you're supposed to do. Although by this point the party had been going for almost three weeks, and he'd already been tired when it started. The Leaky Cauldron was packed. Every so often someone knocked his elbow and he sloshed beer onto the sticky bar and glared half-heartedly. Every round of drinks bought was followed by a toast to the Potters, and then more often than not whispers about Black.

They'd nearly missed each other. Severus had been getting ready to leave amidst a renewed cheer for The-Boy-Who-Lived when he noticed a different type of noise further along the bar. People were starting to back away slightly. He rolled his eyes and made for the door before the fight broke out properly.

"Say. It. Again. I fucking dare you."

The voice was familiar. Severus sighed.

"I said, I hope they kill the bast-." The last word was cut off by the sickening crunch of Lupin's fist connecting with a nose, and the bar erupted.

* * *

By the time the doorbell rings, Severus is starting to think Lupin might not show.

He opens the door to a bedraggled mess of scarf and coat, and Lupin smiles apologetically while pressing a bottle of wine into his hands.

"Sorry I'm late. Place is a nightmare to get to."

"It's fine."

They stand in the hallway.

Severus has never had a guest to this house. Spinner's End had the odd one, but none to the new house. Lupin smiles his infuriating smile.

"Okay?"

"I don't think I have anywhere for you to put your coat."

"Will the back of a chair do?"

"Yes, I suppose. Come in."

He turns and Lupin follows him into the living room, removing his scarf and coat and draping them over an armchair. The tip of his nose is pink. He rubs his hands together and looks a little lost.

"I hope I haven't missed the turkey?"

"Oh." Severus is slightly taken aback. He doesn't normally do Christmas. "I don't have a turkey."

"Oh."

Severus frowns.

"I have wine or whisky."

Lupin beams and plonks himself in a chair next to the fire.

"Even better."

* * *

They play games. Severus wins every round of cards, but Lupin is better at chess. They decide against charades.

There's nothing on the telly.

The first bottle of wine doesn't last long.

* * *

He'd somehow managed to pull Lupin away and into the street, although not before Lupin had gotten himself a bloody nose. Lupin had fought him every step of the way.

"Get off me! Get the fuck _off_ me!"

Severus had finally let go of his jacket when they were a safe distance away from the pub. It was quieter outside.

"Why? So you can go and get yourself beaten to a pulp?"

Lupin straightened his jacket sulkily. "I could've taken them."

"No you bloody couldn't. What were you thinking?"

Lupin ran a shaky hand through his hair. He was upset and angry. They both were most of the time, back then. The battles were over too suddenly, and the rage and the hurt which had been commonplace was now inappropriate and volatile. He tried to light a cigarette but it wouldn't catch in the wind, and he threw it away in irritation.

"You could've been arrested. Or is that what you wanted?"

"Piss off."

Severus didn't know why he didn't just walk away. He could have. Except that he was sick of pretending that everything was fine now. He was sick of pretending that the grief and the frustration and the burning indignity of being used and deceived were all finished. And he was a little drunk. And Lupin was the closest person. And sometimes he just wanted to be cruel.

"Still just following the leader?"

"I swear to God…" Lupin was standing very still. The muscles in his jaw clenched. Severus knew he could hurt him, and he smirked. He took a step closer.

"Think maybe you and Black could be bunkmates?" He backed Lupin into a corner. He thought of all the things he could say to cause him pain and he hated himself. "Did you think if you just got him alone in a cell and promised to still be his very best friend he'd finally let you suck him off?"

There was a sudden crack and pain ripped sharply through his jaw. He stumbled backwards and was startled to see blood on the knuckles of Lupin's raised fist. He brought a hand to his face before he realised it wasn't his blood, and by that time Lupin's hands were fisted in his robes and he couldn't back away. He felt the brick wall against his back.

And then Lupin's mouth was on his, and things were happening too fast for him to think too much about it.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was rough and clumsy and selfish. It was more desperation than affection, more need than want. Lupin tasted like alcohol and copper.

When Lupin pulled back, he looked at Snape like he despised him.

"He fucking killed them." He spoke through clenched teeth. Severus didn't know if the hands in his robes were pulling him closer or pushing him away.

The fight went out of him.

"I know."

He didn't know if his hands on Lupin's shoulders were pulling or pushing. Lupin's face softened. He stepped away, ran a hand through his hair.

"I could have done something."

"No you couldn't."

Lupin covered his face for a moment. He took out another cigarette and then put it away again.

"Come home with me."

Severus swallowed. "No, Remus."

Lupin tilted his head to one side, brushed the hair off his forehead. He blinked back tears. "Severus."

"You're drunk." He folded his arms and kicked at a stone. He wouldn't meet Lupin's gaze. The wind whistled.

"Fuck you." Lupin spat. He tugged his jacket tighter around himself and stormed away.

* * *

Lupin talks about Teddy. A lot. He tells Severus about his job, his wife, the holiday to Portugal they have planned. He shows him the sonogram of his first grandchild. Severus asks the questions he's supposed to ask (how did they meet? Does he enjoy his work? What will they call her?) and stays away from those he shouldn't (what happened with Tonks? Why are you here?)

Severus raids the kitchen and manages to find enough food for a decent cold supper. He pours more wine and they watch Monty Python. Remus knows the dead parrot sketch word for word, and once sat next to Michael Palin on the Victoria line. Severus believes him, although he pretends he doesn't and Lupin gets indignant.

Remus tells Severus about all of the odd jobs he did when he was young and couldn't keep a position for more than a month. He tells him about concerts and protests and parties and young men who reminded him of Sirius. He tells him about the time he spent four hours in a café because he heard Billy Idol sometimes came in.

Severus tells Remus all of Hogwarts' secrets. He tells him that the reason Wilkes got suspended in fourth year was because he'd been growing weed in the greenhouses, and when Gudgeon lost his eye to the Whomping Willow he'd been skulking off to meet Bertha Jorkins in the Shrieking Shack. He tells him that one year at the staff Halloween party, Professor Sprout had gotten drunk and confessed to him that she'd known about the weed all along.

They take turns sneaking glances at one another.

They take turns pretending not to notice.

* * *

Remus had been good looking, when they were younger. He was never as Hollywood handsome as Potter, or as charismatic as Black, but he was definitely good looking.

Severus wasn't. But he was dark-eyed and pale and intense, and that was attractive to some people. Normally the wrong sort of people, but at least he always knew that going in.

He'd always liked the way Remus smiled.

* * *

They end up on the back porch with whisky and warming charms, watching the waves crash into the cliffs.

"I shouldn't have married her." They both stare resolutely ahead. "I mean, I did love her. Still do. But we married for the wrong reasons. We were just both scared we'd wind up…" He trails off with a sigh.

"Lonely?"

Remus looks at him.

"What makes you think I'm lonely?"

Severus wants to say 'because you're here with me', but he thinks it's too maudlin, too ungrateful for what has turned out to be a rather pleasant day. So he shrugs instead, and that seems to be answer enough for Remus. They fall silent again. It's surprisingly comfortable.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Severus is apprehensive. "I suppose."

"When you turned me down, was it really because I was drunk?"

Severus doesn't know how to handle this. He doesn't know what Remus wants to hear, and he feels himself getting irritated. He looks at Remus, and the look he receives in return is earnest.

"Please tell me you haven't come here to chase down a forty-year-old kiss?"

"I…no. I just…" He looks away again and fumbles with his scarf. "I always just wondered if there was some other reason. Forget about it."

It's starting to snow again.

"I wasn't a bad kiss though." Remus pulls his coat tighter around his middle. "Was it?"

"Well, you were drunk and bleeding and you'd just punched me in the face. So it wasn't the best kiss I've ever had." Remus looks a little crestfallen, but nods his understanding. Severus think maybe his tone was a bit sharp. "But no. Not bad."

It's getting cold, and their glasses are empty.

Remus is smiling.

"Let's go back in."

* * *

Remus walks into the kitchen to find Severus piling dishes up in the sink.

"Here, I got you something." He holds out a small, badly wrapped parcel.

"Oh." Severus wipes his hands on a tea towel and takes the parcel from Remus. "I didn't get you anything." He feels guilty and uncomfortable, and annoyed at Remus for putting him in this situation. Although if he'd thought he would've realised that this is exactly the sort of thing Remus would do. And it would be a thoughtful gift, too. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Remus puts his hands in his pockets and looks at Severus expectantly. Severus looks at the parcel in his hands. He tries to remember the last time he received a Christmas present. He tries to remember the last time he'd felt as content as he has today. He draws a blank.

He thinks that if next Christmas were to pass the same way, he would quite like that.

He thinks that if things had gone differently years ago maybe he'd be different now.

He thinks that Remus is still good looking. And he thinks that he is still not, although he is still dark and pale and intense, and maybe that doesn't always have to attract the wrong sort.

"Are you going to open it?"

Severus puts the parcel down on the counter and takes a step forward. Remus' eyebrows knit together and he starts to say something, but Severus puts his hand on his face, brushes the pad of his thumb along his cheekbone, and he closes his mouth again. Severus puts his other arm around his waist and splays his hand across the small of his back.

He kisses him softly, scared he might break whatever fragile connection they've been building. Remus sighs and presses himself closer. It's unhurried and tender. It's something Severus didn't know he wanted until now. He can feel the warmth of Remus' skin under his clothes and taste the whisky on his lips, and too soon it's over. Remus idly runs his fingers through Severus' hair, their foreheads resting against one another.

"I think I do like the beard." Severus says when he feels like they've been silent too long. Remus laughs quietly and doesn't open his eyes.

"I guess I'll keep it then."

It's a long while before they move.

* * *

Severus sees Remus out. He stands in the doorway and they say their farewells. When Remus turns to leave he stops him with a hand on his arm.

"I didn't want you to hate me in the morning."

"I'm sorry?"

"The reason I turned you down. I thought if I went home with you when you were drunk and upset, you'd regret it the next day." He drops his arm and buries his hands in his pockets. "I thought it was the right decision."

"I think it probably was." Remus smiles at him. "Goodnight."

He makes it halfway down the path before Severus stops him again, calling for him over the sound of the wind.

"Come over for New Years. I'll…" He pauses, looking down. Remus likes the silhouette of him, framed in the doorway. Severus shrugs. "I'll get a turkey."

Remus laughs. "New Year." He agrees, raising his hand.

Severus stays where he is until he loses sight of Remus. He smiles to himself, and he closes the door.


	2. New Year's Eve

**Chapter 2: New Year's Eve**

The week drags on, and while Remus fills the hours visiting friends and relatives, wandering the seemingly endless maze of London streets and consuming an almost alarming amount of festive chocolate, Severus confines himself to the familiarity of his own six rooms and the quiet predictability of his own company. He tends to the garden. He deep-cleans the cauldrons. He takes down the sparse decorations and makes the arduous journey into the loft with his cane hooked over his arm, and then he rewards himself with yet another cup of tea and yet another cigarette out on the porch.

The Christmas present remains unopened. It's nestled between a mostly empty packet of cigarettes and a battered, yellow-paged book on the rosewood surface of the bedside table, and several times a day his eyes are drawn to it, his fingers twitch, he suddenly remembers a more urgent matter that demands his immediate attention.

On the thirtieth, the weather takes a turn for the worst. Severus wakes to the battering of hail against the window and the shrill whistle of wind in the chimney. Beneath those noises, the sea crashes into the rocks and breaks the branches from the few straggling trees on the rocky coast. Severus presses his face into the pillow. When he wakes again, the snow outside is two feet deep.

It makes the matter of Remus getting home more complicated. Alcohol and apparation are never an advisable combination, and the Floo network is always jammed in the early hours of New Year's Day. The storm, manageable in the city but perilous on the remote cliff edge, rules out flying and muggle modes of transport. Remus could Floo home before midnight, but that sort of defeats the purpose of spending New Year's Eve together. Or Severus could call off the visit, but he doesn't think Remus would be amenable to the suggestion. And hidden behind that thought is the knowledge that he is not amenable to the suggestion himself. And hidden behind that, in that dank corner of his mind in which germinates the rotting seeds of self-destruction, is the fear that, actually, Remus _would_ be amenable.

And that, really, is why he hasn't opened the present. There's a creeping doubt that Remus will turn up; that, in his loneliness, he has misinterpreted Remus' actions towards him, overstated his interest in him; that when Remus looks at him he feels not affection or attraction, but pity. Severus knows he is being sentimental (superstitious, even) but with a secret inside a gaudily wrapped box comes the thrill of a 'maybe', and if all his worries turn out to be founded, at least he will have this reminder that once there was a possibility.

So, no. He will not cancel tomorrow's plans. Besides, he's already bought the turkey.

* * *

Remus winds himself out of his scarf and bends to untie his shoelaces.

"Eurgh, it's horrible out there." There are snowflakes clinging to his beard and the course grey wool of his coat.

"I've made up the spare room." Severus has agonised over how to bring it up for the past twenty-seven hours. He had a picture in his head of how he would broach the topic. In the fantasy he is casual and smooth and the offer of a bed for the night places itself neatly into the conversation and is met with gratitude. He didn't mean to blurt it out so abruptly, and he certainly didn't mean for it to be the first thing he says. He blushes faintly and turns to drape Remus' coat over a chair.

The comment catches Remus off guard, and he's glad that untying his laces gives him an extra moment to compose his face. He finishes taking his shoes off and straightens up, smiling at Severus. "Very thoughtful of you."

Severus nods once. "Wine?"

"Wine." Remus agrees.

* * *

"You're a good cook." Remus says this to anyone who cooks him a meal, but in Severus' case it's true. Not that Remus is surprised. There are few things Severus is not good at.

"Yes." Severus replies distractedly.

"No, I mean, really good."

"I know…What?"

Remus has stopped eating and is looking at Severus with a bemused smile on his face.

"Most people fake modesty when receiving a compliment."

"I am not most people, Lupin." Severus raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"Fair enough."

"Do you cook?" Severus asks, trying much harder than he normally would to be polite. Remus scrunches his nose.

"No. But I know the numbers for all the best takeaways in town by heart, and I can make a mean beans on toast, should the occasion call for it."

"I cannot imagine a single occasion that would."

"Mm." Remus grunts his disagreement and struggles to chew and swallow a mouthful of potato, pointing his fork at Severus as though to hold his place in the conversation. "Sunday hangovers. Beans on toast, sugary tea, old film on the telly." He thinks for a minute. "Maybe a bit of a cry. Nothing better."

Strangely, Severus finds the image quite appealing. Except the crying.

"Would you like some dessert?" He pauses, busying himself with folding his napkin, avoiding eye contact. "It's chocolatey."

Remus is oddly touched.

* * *

They retire to the living room, bringing with them half a bottle of wine and the rest of the dessert. The Wizard of Oz is on, and Remus insists on watching it. Severus criticizes the film throughout for reinforcing negative witch stereotypes, perpetuating prejudice towards the magic community as a whole and because the flying monkeys are a thing of nightmares and do not belong in a family film. Remus lets him, despite this being one of his favourite films, because he enjoys the sound of Severus' voice. He has never known anyone who speaks the way Severus does, whose words are chosen with such care and purpose, who could keep him enthralled with a sudden stress or a long, pregnant pause. Severus' lips pursed around a _p_ makes his breath catch. The drawn-out hiss of an _s_ makes him squirm.

As the credits roll, Remus realises that his and Severus' fingers are entwined. He hadn't even noticed it happening.

* * *

Severus had noticed.

He'd noticed an hour ago when Remus shifted to make himself more comfortable and in doing so had unintentionally brought himself closer to Severus on the settee. He'd noticed when Remus had finished his drink and leaned forward to put the empty glass on the coffee table, and when he leaned back again his hand pressed lightly against his thigh. He'd noticed when the backs of their hands had brushed together, he'd noticed when Remus absently hooked his little finger around his. He'd noticed the feeling of cool skin against warm, of the small hairs on Remus' wrist, of delicate bones beneath his fingertips.

He's not used to this. At school, there were never any pretty girls for him to take to Hogsmeade, and the odd fumble in the dungeons with the pretty boys were not the sorts of encounters where handholding was appropriate. Even since then, there have been few boyfriends, and most of them have learned early on that he does not like to be touched.

When Remus finally does notice, after Dorothy and Toto are safely back in Kansas, he looks at their laced fingers with quiet surprise.

"Oh." He looks at Severus. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

"It's okay." He means it.

Remus raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes." He turns back to the telly.

* * *

Remus knows that a relationship with Severus – any type of relationship - will be hard work. Severus is distant and secretive and suspicious. He dispenses the occasional kind word as though under duress, and returns affection with outright hostility. He flinches away from physical contact, and severs emotional bonds with his cruelty and condescension. Severus Snape guards his privacy like a dragon guards its gold.

Remus knows this. And still.

He had not come here anticipating sex (although he'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind). He is aware that this will take time and his best chance is to go slowly, just as he is aware that if Severus were to offer himself he'd accept without a second thought, all caution to the wind.

The spare room comment hurt unexpectedly. As soon as it was uttered, Remus understood that Severus, too, has been thinking of sex, and has decided that it is something he does not yet want. He understood that Severus is keeping him at arm's length. When Severus says 'I've made up the spare room', Remus understands that he is not welcome in Severus' bed.

None of this is a surprise. And still.

* * *

"So how do you normally see the new year in?" Severus turns over the first card in the deck. "8."

"The usual. Few friends, lots of drink, kiss the wife at midnight." Remus pauses for a moment. "Probably can't do that this year. Hit me."

Severus deals another card. "14. Probably not."

"Oh well, never mind. Hit me."

"23. Dealer wins." Severus busies himself gathering the cards back together. He doesn't notice the way Remus looks at him, with a sudden curiosity.

"What about you?" Remus asks, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

"I definitely shouldn't kiss your wife." He replies dryly. Remus laughs, and Severus hides a pleased smile behind the rim of his wineglass.

"No, what do you do for New Year?" He hesitates for a moment. "Any midnight kisses?" There are things that they can talk about. They can talk about food, the weather, television, cards, chess, Remus' family, potions, books, and the various muggle contraptions they enjoy (Remus has recently bought a laptop. Severus confesses, with a degree of embarrassment Remus doesn't understand, that he couldn't live without his electric kettle.) Mentions of the past are uncommon, and broached with an inordinate amount of care. Emotions and sex are avoided like the plague.

Severus stops shuffling the cards and runs a hand through his hair. He refills both wineglasses. As the silence draws on, Remus starts to think he's crossed a line. "I don't think I've ever had a New Year's kiss."

"What, never?"

Severus arches an eyebrow. "Your tone of surprise is flattering."

"I _am_ surprised. You've really never…?"

"No." He thinks for a second. "I _did_ once spend New Year bent over the pool table in the back room of a muggle pub." Remus snorts into his drink and has to wipe wine out of his beard. Severus smirks. "I don't think that counts."

"Definitely not. Unless there was kissing involved, of course?" Severus answers with a disdainful twist of his mouth. "Then no, it does not count." He thinks for a moment. "That's strange."

Severus shrugs. "I was twenty-three and really quite drunk. You can't tell me you've never had an ill-advised…encounter…under similar circumstances?"

"I didn't mean that. I meant that you've never kissed anyone at New Year."

"Is it important?"

"Yes!" Remus' reply is so vehement that it forces Severus to look up from the pack of cards, which he is sorting into decks and then ordering numerically. Apparently they are finished with card games for the evening. The tips of Remus' ears flush pink. He continues at a more appropriate volume. "Yes, it's important. It's like telling someone that you want to begin the year with them. Like you want to _be_ with them."

Severus is looking at him. His face is unreadable. Remus' blush starts from his hairline and burns downwards until the reddened skin of his throat disappears beneath his collar. He looks away and reaches for his wineglass.

"Noted." Severus says quietly. Remus smiles.

Severus takes Remus' delve into the personal as permission to ask a personal question of his own.

"Who was the first, then? I assume there was someone before 'the wife'?"

Remus looks suddenly uncomfortable. He averts his eyes and picks at a loose thread on his trousers. He thinks about lying. He takes another drink before looking back up at Severus with a strained smile. "It was Sirius, actually."

Severus' jaw clenches. His fingers twitch against his knee. The room suddenly seems very, very quiet.

* * *

It was their fifth year at Hogwarts, and the staff and a handful of students who had stayed behind for Christmas were packed into a room off to the side of the Great Hall. Dumbledore thought that the smaller room would be more appropriate for the party. Less depressing. He was almost right – the younger pupils enjoyed the food and the music and the excitement of being in this seldom seen part of the castle past lights out. From fourth year up, however, the students who stayed were those who stayed every year. The magic of the select gathering had worn off, and there was nothing to detract from the feeling of being unwanted at Christmas.

Sirius had been in a particularly bad mood. He was bored. He'd been caught with a half-empty bottle of firewhisky, which was promptly confiscated, and although there were a few girls who were more than interested, he had recently broken it off with Mary MacDonald and so all non-Slytherin girls were avoiding him in a show of solidarity. Mostly, though, he missed James. Remus tried his best to keep him entertained, and to bury the sharp pang of rejection whenever he was compared to Prongs and ultimately found wanting, but that night his best wasn't quite good enough.

They'd ended up alone in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, having left the party early at Sirius' insistence. Remus lay down on his bed, and Sirius slumped down beside him.

Sirius always sat just a little too close.

"Well that was fucking shit."

Remus shrugged. "It was alright." He had wanted to go home for Christmas, and had only stayed for Sirius.

"Are you kidding, mate? New Year's Eve and they're all down there with their fucking sausage rolls and pumpkin juice?"

"What did you expect? It's a school party." He was painfully aware of Sirius' thigh pressed against his on the narrow bed.

"What? You want to go back down? Be my guest." Sirius' voice had an edge to it. Remus knew he was trying to pick a fight. Normally he wouldn't rise to it, but it had been a long two weeks of pandering to Sirius' ever changing moods. His nerves were frayed.

"No, I'm just saying. No need to get arsy about it."

"I'm just so fucking bored!"

"So you've said." He muttered, shifting his leg away from Sirius'. Sirius sensed his tone.

"Come on Moony, you're not in a huff, are you?" Sirius propped himself up on one elbow. His long hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it away impatiently. Remus refused to meet his too direct stare. "Hey." He prodded Remus in the ticklish area just below his ribs, and Remus laughed despite himself. He shoved Sirius' shoulder and Sirius flopped back down onto the mattress.

"You need a haircut."

Sirius tutted.

"Yeah yeah. You sound like bloody McGonagall." Sirius put on his best Scottish accent. "'Sirius Black! You are a representative of the fine, brave, noble house of Gryffindor and as such should take more care to dress like a stuck-up, private school twat.'"

"You sound more like Miss Jean Brodie." Remus tried his best to suppress a smile. He knew how he looked when he smiled at Sirius.

"Mrs Joan who?"

"It's a muggle thing. Never mind."

"Oh, right. Do you want a fag?" He rummaged around for a moment, lifting his hips off the bed to reach the lighter in his back pocket. Remus swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat and looked away.

"No. And I really wish you wouldn't."

"Have you ever even tried one?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, and Remus replied with a frown and a crossing of his arms. "Try one. You'll like it." Sirius' lips curved into a cocky grin, the same grin that made Remus do ridiculous things like sneak into Hogsmeade and steal food from the kitchens and swim in the lake in the cold dark of winter. It was the same grin that made him ache in a way that he could neither bear nor live without. "Tell you what, why don't you shotgun mine?"

"What does that mean?" He hated that he was not as worldly as Sirius. He hated that he was blushing.

"It's easy, I'll show you." Sirius lit a cigarette and took a few shallow drags until it caught. He shifted closer, leaning over Remus.

"What…what are you doing?" His heart pounded. Sirius laughed.

"Don't be so bloody nervous. When I blow the smoke out, you breathe it in. Okay?"

Remus grimaced in disgust but nodded anyway. Sirius brought the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply. He didn't smile. He didn't look away. It was three days before the full moon, and Remus could sense everything. He could feel the heat from every point of contact between himself and Sirius, and the cold voids that marked the distance between them. He could smell firewhiskey and cigarettes and cinnamon, so strong to him it was almost taste.

Sirius breathed out, and Remus breathed in.

"See, not so bad." Sirius leaned back to tip the ash onto the windowsill, his back and neck arching into a graceful curve. Remus thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful.

"I feel a bit lightheaded."

"That's fine, it's just the smoke." It wasn't. "Wanna try again?"

He did, desperately. He wanted to stay this close to Sirius, for Sirius to be pleased with him. And he felt so self-conscious and awkward and pathetic. His heart was racing and the palms of his hands were clammy and his eyes were wide and scared and hopeful and he didn't understand how Sirius couldn't see how much he wanted it. Sirius smirked and took another drag. He angled his body closer.

And suddenly Remus knew; Sirius was doing this on purpose.

Sirius exhaled, his mouth inches from Remus', and in that moment Remus was so _sure_. This time, he didn't breathe in. This time, the pull of the moon and the twist of Sirius' hips against his leg and his own damn certainty propelled him forward through the cloud of smoke. He surged against Sirius, curled his hand around the back of his neck.

He kissed him.

And for a second, it was everything.

* * *

When Severus breaks the silence, his voice is quiet and controlled.

"I'd rather not talk about Black."

Remus' smile is mostly relief. "Nor would I."

"I'm going to go outside for a cigarette. Would you like one?"

Remus laughs, a short gust of air through his nose. "I really wouldn't. I'll take the dishes through while you do that. Fancy another film?"

"Sure. See what's on, I'll be five minutes." He slips on a pair of shoes which are beside the back door, grabs his cane and steps outside.

* * *

The wind has died down and the snow is drifting gently. It is bitterly cold. Severus pulls his cloak tighter around his chest.

He knows it is ridiculous to feel jealous. It is ridiculous to feel that familiar flash of anger and hurt at the discovery that a man he barely knows, with whom he has held hands once and kissed twice, almost half a century ago kissed someone else. He doesn't care that Remus was married, that he has a child with another person. He doesn't care about the men and women he was with before that.

He cares that he loved Black. He cares even though he knows Black never loved him in return. He cares even though Black is long dead.

And he knows he has no right to be jealous. He and Remus aren't a couple. They aren't even friends, really. But he wants that right. Wants it almost as much as he wants Remus to like him, to come for the holidays and hold his hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

He finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on the wall. He looks up, closes his eyes, sighs. He feels the snow on his skin.

Despite what Remus thinks, when Severus says 'I've made up the spare room', he really means 'you don't have to leave.'

* * *

Sirius had pushed him away and scrambled back off the bed with such urgency he caught his foot in the blankets and stumbled, and with such force that Remus fell back and knocked his head against the bedpost.

"What the fuck, Moony?"

"I…I…" Remus didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He'd been so sure. "God, Sirius, I'm sorry." He clambered onto his knees on top of the bed. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Are you fucking queer?"

"No!" Remus wished he were brave. "No! I just…look, I'm sorry. Okay? Please, I'm sorry."

"Do you fancy me?" The disgusted curl of Sirius' mouth hurts him more than he thought possible. "Oh, Merlin, we get changed in the same room! Do you _watch_ me?"

"No! I'm not like that, okay? I just made a mistake. It doesn't mean anything."

"Fucking hell. Wait until I tell Prongs and Wormtail about this."

The colour drained from Remus' face. Before Remus had told his friends about his lycanthropy, he had known what it was to be scared and ashamed and alone. He never expected to feel like that again.

Sirius turned to leave, and Remus leapt off the bed after him. "No, Sirius!" He grabbed his arm and Sirius jerked away angrily. "Please don't tell them. You don't have to tell them anything. I just got…confused, that's all. Please, Pads." The anger in Sirius face softened to pity. It was somehow worse.

"Fine. I won't say anything."

"Thank you." Remus feels sick. "I'm so sorry."

Sirius slammed the door as he left.

It wasn't until years later that Remus realised he'd given Sirius the perfect tool with which to manipulate him.

* * *

Severus steps back into the house just as Remus steps out of the kitchen. The meet between the doorways.

"Snowflakes.' Remus' smile is gentle. He strokes a drop of moisture from Severus' hair.

Then, without warning, he kisses Severus on the cheek.

The jealousy ebbs a little.

* * *

They fall asleep half an hour into Jurassic Park. Remus wakes sometime later with a sharp pain in his neck and pins and needles in his left arm. He flexes his hand to get the blood flowing again and winces at the sensation.

"What time is it?" Severus asks, his voice thick with sleep.

Remus checks his watch. "Oh. It's quarter past one." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We missed the bells."

Severus looks at Remus, and surprises himself by reaching over and taking hold of his hand. "Is it really so important?"

Remus sighs. "I guess not."

The clock on the mantelpiece ticks. Severus tuts.

"Bloody Gryffindors. Wait for me outside."

He goes upstairs, using his cane to steady himself, and Remus collects his coat and shoes from beside the front door. He waits in the back garden, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together. He hears Severus' cane against the ground and turns around.

"You cannot tell anyone about this." It is only then that Remus notices the way Severus is standing, with his arm held stiffly at his side and his curled fist turned into his body, as though he is hiding something.

"About what?"

Severus' frowns. Then he extends his arm and opens his hand to allow Remus to see what he's holding. Remus' eyes widen and he steps forwards to get a closer look.

"Where did you get this? I thought they were all destroyed." He runs his fingers over the delicate cogs of the Time Turner, marvelling at the intricate design.

"I made it." Severus is visibly uncomfortable. Remus raises an eyebrow.

"I don't think you're supposed to do that."

"That's why you can't tell anyone. And I mean _anyone_. Not Teddy, not the Weasleys. Definitely not Potter. Understand?"

"I understand. How did you even do it? That's complicated magic, Severus."

Severus shrugs. "It took a few attempts." He takes hold of the chain and loops it around both of their necks.

"What are we doing?"

"Trust me." Severus is distracted, his fingers skimming over the delicate machinery, making minor adjustments, his eyebrows knit in concentration. He turns a dial, and pauses. He looks at Remus, his eyes dark. "Okay?"

"Okay."

The corner of Severus' mouth twitches. He presses a switch, and the garden shifts out of focus. Remus thinks it's like the first time he opened his eyes under water as a child. He'd looked up, and the world above was at once strange and familiar.

Then everything jolts back into place. The garden is back. The house is back. In the distance they can just make out the twinkling of lights from the nearest town.

"What time is it?" Severus asks, winding them out of the chain.

"Five to midnight." Remus beams.

"Okay, give me a minute." Severus takes his wand out of his cloak pocket. Remus recognises some of the spells he uses, but most of them are completely unknown to him. He starts to feel warm, and although the snow is still falling it seems not to land on either of them. There's a distant rumble, and as it grows louder Remus begins to distinguish individual sounds from the clamour. There are voices, laughter, the clink of glasses. A clock ticks. And although they are outside, and the sky is clear but for the stars and the barest slash of silver moon, Remus imagines he can see the sparkle of glitter and shimmering of fairy lights above their heads. The voices become one. They chant in time to the clock. And as it chimes midnight, there is a cheer. He feels light on his face, and turns to see the sky colour a second before he hears the bang and crackle of fireworks. A few notes he instantly recognises are played on a piano, and Remus is swept away by the song of this group of strangers who are unknowingly allowing him to share in their celebration.

Severus leans against the wall. He folds his arms. He watches Remus watch the fireworks and smiles.

After a while, the fireworks stop, and the noises fade away. Remus can once again feel the snow on his face. He turns to face Severus.

"Thank you." His voice is a whisper. Severus says nothing. He takes a few steps towards Remus. He means this kiss to be romantic and slow and deliberate, but as soon as he's close enough Remus lunges forwards and kisses him with enough force to make him stumble. Remus holds him up. He wraps his arms around Severus' neck, fists his hand in his hair. He draws his tongue against Severus' lower lip, and then gently bites. Severus moans against his mouth, and Remus cannot think of a single sound he would rather hear.

After a while, Severus reluctantly pulls away. He checks the time. They go back inside, sneaking past themselves asleep on the settee.

Severus shows Remus to the spare room. He finds him some pyjamas and a toothbrush. They hover in the doorway.

They kiss each other goodnight. Once. Chaste. They retire to their respective rooms.

* * *

Remus is woken in the small hours of the morning by the bedroom door creaking open and then clicking shut. It is pitch black. A floorboard groans.

"Everything okay?" He mumbles, not turning around.

"Fine." Severus mutters back. Remus feels a chill as the covers are drawn back and then a dip in the mattress and the warmth of Severus' chest against his back. "Is this okay?"

Remus smiles sleepily. He finds Severus' hand in the dark and laces their fingers, drawing his arm around his waist. He feels him relax a little. He sighs. They both sleep.


	3. New Year's Day

**Warnings: slightly darker chapter. Includes swearing and homophobic language.**

 **Chapter 3: New Year's Day**

The winter morning light streams through the window and dances behind Severus' closed eyelids. It takes him a moment to remember where he is. He is unused to the feeling of the wall against his back and the soft fabric of the bedding, his own blankets being made of heavy, coarse wool.

He knows without opening his eyes that he is alone. He thinks he should just go back to sleep, forget about everything, pretend last night didn't happen. He could just sleep. But he has never been one to wallow.

He gets up, winces at the pain in his knee, hobbles to the bathroom. He showers in water that is almost hot enough to scald and scrubs his skin raw. He brushes his teeth and vehemently avoids his reflection. When he returns to his own room to dress he catches sight of the Christmas present on the bedside table and sweeps it angrily into the drawer, slamming it shut hard enough to topple his book to the floor. He leaves it where it falls.

He takes the stairs slowly, balancing himself between his cane and the bannister, and as he reaches the bottom step he is surprised to see Remus exiting the kitchen. There is an ache in the pit of his stomach which roils uncertainly between delight and dread. He frowns at Remus' smile.

'You're still here.'

'It would seem so. I was starting to think you were never going to get up.' Remus leans casually against the doorframe and eats another spoonful of cereal. He smiles. He wipes a drop of milk from his beard with the back of his hand.

'I don't normally sleep so late.' Severus feels waspish, inexplicably defensive. He's always been a light sleeper, especially in an unfamiliar bed. He's used to staying up until his head pounds and his eyes sting, then retiring to his room and staring into the darkness as his mind whirrs. Sometimes he walks for hours, and when he does he is often still awake to see the sun begin to glitter the space between sea and sky. Last night's deep sleep unnerves him. For once, he hadn't dreamed.

'Something must have worn you out.' Remus smirks, then immediately feels bad when Severus' cheeks colour and he looks away. 'I helped myself to breakfast, I hope you don't mind.'

Severus shrugs and then grimaces as he steps stiffly from the bottom stair.

'Would you like me to make you something?'

'I can make my own breakfast, thank you very much. It is my house, after all.' Severus limps into the kitchen, not looking at Remus as he passes him.

Remus closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. He knew this would be difficult. He knew Severus would be difficult. He just didn't expect it to get difficult so soon. He follows Severus into the kitchen and puts his bowl down on the bench.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose.'

Severus clicks the kettle on and takes a mug from the cupboard nearest him and doesn't respond.

'Severus.' He reaches to touch Severus' hand and Severus pulls away as though burned. Remus' arm falls limply back to his side. 'If I've done something wrong I'd like to know what.'

'What makes you think you've done anything wrong?' The sharpness of his tone does nothing to alleviate Remus' concerns.

'Oh, you know. Just your general demeaner.' His attempt at levity falls flat. Severus turns to face him with a scowl.

'If you expect twenty-four hours in your company to transform me into a gushing, histrionic fool then I'm afraid you will be disappointed,' he hisses through clenched teeth. 'Excuse me.' He reaches around Remus and opens the fridge, removing the milk and then shutting the door forcefully enough to rattle the jars and bottles inside.

'I haven't been disappointed so far.' Remus speaks softly, suddenly aware of the insecurity seething beneath Severus' cool affectation. Severus opens the drawer between them and takes out a teaspoon. He leaves it open. He picks up the kettle before it has finished boiling.

Remus sighs and rubs his forehead between his eyebrows with the pad of his thumb. 'Do you want me to go?' The evenness of his voice surprises him.

Severus stirs his tea for too long. He presses his palm into the bench and stares straight ahead. He wants to say 'no'. He wants to say 'stay'. He chokes back frustration and wonders why he can never just ask for the things he wants. Even the smallest things. Even just an extra cup of tea or an hour alone or the comfort of a warm hand pressed against the curve of his back. He wants so desperately to say 'no', and 'stay', and 'please'. He wants, for once, just to ask for this small thing. But there are a thousand small things that he fears are really much larger.

So he says 'yes'.

And Lupin leaves. And he hates him a little for it.

—

Remus half-woke in the quiet dead of night, still in the fog of a pleasant dream not-quite forgotten. He was warm, and the blankets were heavy. In a few hours the sky would dapple pink and gold, but for now it was dark and still. He hummed in contentment and tightened his arm around Severus' waist.

It wasn't until he brushed against Severus that he realised what had woken him. He was hard, and the sudden friction brought a thrill shot through with panic. He froze for a few seconds, then started to move carefully away from Severus, trying not to wake him. Severus' fingers clenched around his. Guilt lanced through him and he felt the burn of embarrassment. There was only so much he could expect Severus to lower his guard, and he feared he was already pushing him too far.

'Severus - '

'Stop talking.' Severus' voice was quiet and thick with sleep. He drew Remus' arm closer around his chest and rolled his hips. Remus jerked forwards, almost involuntarily, and then stilled.

He knew this was a bad idea. He knew this was too fast. Severus shifted against him again, and his breath hitched, and Remus pressed his face into his shoulder. Neither of them were fully awake. They could stop this, forget it had happened, move on with their dignity intact and continue the slow inching towards something they both knew was significant. But it had been too long since he had shared a bed with another man. And Severus was warm, and the slow rock of his hips was becoming restless.

Severus drew Remus' hand lower down his body.

He buried his face in the mattress.

He whispered a laboured 'please', and Remus caved. He rubbed Severus's cock through the fabric of his pyjamas and listened to his breathing become heavy and ragged. His heart pounded against his ribs. It had been decades since he'd gotten off like this, rutting desperately against another person, not bothering to undress in his impatience to come. He felt clumsy and inept, although Severus seemed not to mind, rocking between Remus' hand and his prick. He wasn't going to last much longer.

Remus slid his hand underneath Severus' waistband, revelling in Severus' disappointed whine at the momentary lack of contact. Severus felt Remus' wrist against the sharp jut of his hipbone as he thrust into his fist. He'd forgotten how good this was. He'd forgotten the feeling of hot breath against the back of his neck and the graze of skin on skin and the insistent press of another body against his. Remus' hand sped up, and Severus clenched his jaw and came without a sound, his body tensing. Remus moaned. He pressed his mouth against the crook of Severus' neck and gripped his hip tightly as he climaxed.

He didn't care that this was a bad idea.

Severus drew Remus' arm back around his waist. They were both asleep again within minutes.

—

Remus turns his key in the lock and pushes the door. It moves a few millimetres and then sticks in the doorframe. He sighs, pulls it completely shut again and pushes again, harder. It jolts open and he takes the key out of the lock before stepping into his living room. He takes his coat off and hangs it on the back of the door, then stares into the empty flat.

When he and Tonks had bought it, they had not intended for anyone to live here. It was a place for Remus to hide out during the full moon. Remus had insisted, saying it was safer and it would be easier for them if the neighbours didn't know. Really be just couldn't bear for Tonks and Teddy to see his transformation. He could see Tonks was relieved.

It is sparsely furnished, mostly with junk he has picked up at second-hand shops and flea markets. There are deep gashes in the wood of the coffee table, and several mismatched rugs covering the damaged floorboards. All of his kitchenware fits onto the draining board. He hasn't gotten around to fitting the lampshades.

There's a sudden swell of anger, and he closes his eyes and clenches his jaw and waits for it to subside.

This was not supposed to be his life.

He moves to the bedroom, toeing off his boots beside the door, and opens a drawer to select a clean, if motheaten, jumper. The curtains are still closed and the bed is unmade. There is an open book on the pillow, half a cup of cold tea on the bedside table, framed photographs cluttering every surface. He thinks he should have been a librarian, or a teacher, or an antique dealer. He thinks that, by now, he should have a happy, boring marriage and an aging dog to walk early in the morning and a tedious hobby to take up the weekends. He should play golf or do crosswords or collect something. Coins. Or butterflies. Something other than misused furniture and pictures of people now mostly dead.

He turns the shower on without getting in. It'll take a good five minutes to warm up, and he brushes his teeth while he waits. He strips off his jumper and t-shirt, and catches sight of himself in the mirror. For a long moment, he stares. For a long moment, the feeling of disgust threatens to overwhelm. He cannot reconcile this scarred body with the mild-mannered man who longs for a quiet, settled life. He sees in his body flesh permanently marked by teeth and claws, the searing pain of change and the exhaustion of healing, the hiding and the shame and the fear and the revulsion. And all at once, the unfairness of it hits him.

He turns the mirror to the wall. He forces himself to breathe more evenly and he grips the edge of the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He had been happy enough, for a while. Work was scarce, and money was tight, but he had a home and a wife who loved him. He was a good father. For a while, that was enough, and it was more than he deserved.

But there is an animal in him. There is an animal in him that wants nothing but to fight and to fuck and to howl, and it sees the darkness and the cruelty in others and it keens for it. In the end, that side of him wins out. In the end, he always chooses wrong.

—

Sirius was different, after Azkaban.

When he first came back, the anger Remus had carried with him for twelve years like shrapnel in a wound began to fade. When Sirius came back, Remus was filled with a certainty that he could find his way back; he could have a life that was normal and stable and good. And for too long, he refused to see the cracks beginning to form. He shrugged off the mood swings; Sirius had always been changeable, although now the lows lasted for weeks at a time and the highs, increasingly fewer and further between, were coloured with an intensity which left others unnerved. There was a raw edge to his impulsiveness, something dangerous and self-destructive. Behind his sociability hid the terror of solitude.

And he had nightmares which made him twitch and whine and eventually scream himself awake. He refused to talk about them, laughing it off and then changing the subject. Remus learned it was best not to ask. But some nights he wouldn't wake, and Remus would come to his room and shake him out of sleep. Sirius would cling to him until his breathing steadied and the dark shapes in the shadows resolved themselves into harmless objects. Those nights, Sirius needed Remus to stay and hold onto him. Remus knew without being told that he should be gone by morning.

A few months before his death, there was a firecall in the night. Remus heard it through the haze of sleep and jolted into alertness. Sirius stirred beside him. Remus gently pulled his arm out from under him, shaking away the numbness, and moved towards the flickering green flames.

He took the call quickly and quietly, wary of waking Sirius from sorely needed sleep, but when he turned away from the fireplace Sirius was sitting up on the edge of the bed. His right hand clenched and unclenched, as though searching for a wand.

"I have to go." Remus smiled apologetically, pulling on his boots. Sirius didn't say anything, didn't blink, and it made him nervous. "There's a pack a few miles south of here. Albus wants me to find out what they know."

Sirius looked away, scratched his forearm. "Don't go." His voice was uncharacteristically small.

"Pads-"

"Can he not ask someone else? Why does it always have to be you?"

Remus laughed shortly and shrugged. "Who else would he ask?"

Sirius lowered his head to his hands, his elbows pressed into his knees. His fingers tangled in the knots in his hair. Thinking he wasn't going to reply, Remus took a step towards him, and Sirius jolted upright again.

"Just...just don't go, alright? What difference will it make?" He sounded irritated, and Remus felt himself start to get impatient. He didn't like being cooped up in Grimauld Place any more than Sirius did, and was quickly tiring of being alternately dismissed and then clung to as a bewildered child clings to a kindly grandmother.

"I have to go, Sirius. I won't be long." He turned to leave but Sirius jumped up and grabbed his sleeve.

"No! I...I need you to stay, okay? I...please." He dropped Remus' arm and hung his head, embarrassed. Vulnerability was not something the Black family nurtured in their children. "I need you to stay."

Remus sighed and placed his hands on Sirius' shoulders.

"Look, you'll be fine. I'll only be gone a couple of hours."

Sirius raised his head, and for a moment his eyes darted the way they did when he was trying to make a decision, before they locked with Remus'. He took a step towards Remus and placed his hand on the side of his neck. He asked him again to stay, his voice suddenly calm and low. Remus' heart thumped in his chest, not sure what was happening. Before he could reply, Sirius dropped to his knees, and for a second Remus thought he was about to beg.

But then he reached for Remus' waistband, fumbled for his zipper in the dark, and Remus stumbled backwards. He moved only a few inches before his back hit the chest of drawers.

"What are you doing?"

Sirius let out a sound that was more bark than laugh and inched forwards. "What do you think, Moony?"

"Stop it." Remus' pulse had quickened, and he was very aware of the door behind Sirius' back.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow and smirked, and for a moment he could have been the arrogant teenager from fifteen years ago. Could have been, but for the dull black of his eyes, and the reek of desperation and uncertainty. "Why? You get what you want, I get what I want. What's the big deal?" He reached for Remus again, and Remus knocked his hand away.

"What's the big deal?" Remus repeated back to him, incredulous. "You're offering to have sex with me." Any hopes Remus had that maybe this was genuine, that maybe Sirius reciprocated his feelings for him, were dashed in a small but unmistakeable flinch. Sirius shrugged, and Remus felt the indifference like a vice in his chest. He took a shaky breath. "No. You're just scared. I won't take advantage of that. And I won't let you manipulate my feelings for you anymore."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake, it's just a shag. What are you being such a girl about it for?"

"Could you let me past, please?" He squared his shoulders. Sirius' false bravado fell away, and the lines of his face hardened. His eyes glinted angrily.

"Right," Sirius snarled, standing and starting to walk away, before turning back and shoving Remus' shoulder roughly. Remus refused to be stared down. "So all you've done since we were fucking fourteen years old is think about my cock, and now you get a chance to have it and you don't fucking want it?" He snorted derisively, looking Remus up and down. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me." Remus' hands balled into fists.

Sirius smiled nastily and raised an eyebrow. "There's nothing wrong with you? Remind me where you're off to again?" He paused. "That's right, you're off to get all pally with a pack of werewolves. Because you're a fucking animal. And just because you only look like one for three days of the month doesn't mean you're not a mangy. Fucking. Animal." He pushed Remus back against the chest of drawers. "And as if that wasn't enough, you're a _queer_ mangy fucking animal. Do you think because you shag the odd woman now and again that makes you _normal_? You're not normal, Moony. You're never going to be _normal_." He scoffed and shook his head. "Nothing wrong with you?"

"Get out of my way." Remus hissed through clenched teeth. The whisper dropped into the silence of the room and hung between them. For a moment Remus thought Sirius was not going to move.

But then he stepped back and gestured to the door with an outstretched arm, and Remus swept past him, slamming the door on his way out.

When Remus returned in the small hours of the morning, Sirius' door was locked.

They never talked about it. Sirius became more and more reckless. He took to sneaking out and bringing home muggle women, although he only fucked if Remus was in the house. If the women were still there in the morning, Remus was perfectly pleasant to them, and Sirius quickly lost interest. He stopped sleeping.

And then Sirius died, and Remus met Tonks and asked her to marry him. They were happy. Their marriage was calm and comfortable and equal. Sometimes they went to parties, and made a game of choosing a man or woman for Tonks to transform into when they got home that night. Once, she offered to become Sirius for him, and her generosity overwhelmed him. He declined, and he kissed her on the corner of her mouth and asked if he could take her to bed. Just her. Her smile lit up her face as she led him up the stairs, and again in the morning when he woke up next to her. And she was kind and cheerful and patient. She was everything Sirius was not, and she was not enough.

—

Severus writes to Remus. It's a short note, asking him for a drink in the Leaky Cauldron on his birthday. It takes him four days and two rolls of parchment to write. He agonises over how to sign it.

He needn't have bothered. Remus doesn't reply.

—

Remus whimpers and howls and eventually falls asleep, exhausted.

Outside, illuminated by the full moon, an owl taps impatiently at the window.


End file.
